Hermione and Xenophilius' Winter's Tale
by nagandsev
Summary: Summary: An ill-fated Auror mission leaves a grieving family to carry on; a burdened heart springs forth hope...
1. Chapter 1

Hermione and Xenophilius' Winter's Tale by nagandsev

Summary: An ill-fated Auror mission leaves a grieving family to carry on; a burdened heart springs forth hope...

Chapter One: Back to The Burrow

* * *

The sunlight streamed through the blackthorn's branches and fell upon the withered leaves covering Ronald's grave, still frozen from winter's harshness.

Hermione brushed the decayed foliage gently from her husband's mound, her tears pouring down her cheeks, but she would give no sound to her grief. She forbade herself.

And so the teardrops fell, one by one, absorbed slowly by the thawing earth's pores.

Upon receiving news of Ron's death—no, _murder_ - for she would never, ever, accept it as anything else – the mere thought of the phrase 'in the line of duty' was still a fresh desecration to her – she had mourned three days uncontrollably like a wild beast.

Ginny had watched over little Rose and Hugo along with her own children, while Harry had wrestled and held Hermione, on and off, in between her thrashing and screaming, her beating his chest as if he were the Auror department incarnate, the sole cause and agent of Ron's death, and if she just beat hard enough, Ron would come back to life.

Like a Time-Turner, she had thought she could go back in time and make everything all right again. She always could. She always had taken care of others, always had been able to right a wrong.

_ But I wasn't there for you, Ronald, I wasn't there... _

No one had been there at the showdown between Auror Weasley and the Death Eater, previously on the run, but then cornered, duelling to the death, Rodolphus Lestrange. The notorious Lestrange's last act of murder, before being forever erased as a threat to society by Longbottom's avenged Killing Curse on the loathsome fugitive, was cast and carried out in a blink of an eye on the young father of two.

That ill-fated Auror mission had been last early autumn, even though it seemed to Hermione as if it were just yesterday as she knelt and swept around the thawing grave, plucking randomly here and there at withered weeds and dried twigs.

Now, with the first whispers of springtime approaching, Hermione knelt beside her husband's tomb and concentrated on sharing with him the most recent family news. "Ronald, we're going home," whispered Hermione, tucking an uncontrollable, frizzy lock behind her ear.

"Little Rose and Hugo and I, we're going back to The Burrow."

Attempting to control her quivering lips and cracking voice, she forced herself to continue and determinedly repeated, "We're going back _home._.."

Her frame shook, and Hermione could do naught but give over to the wave of pain and loss, rearing up with a vengeance. So, she sat on the cold ground, blotched with sparse dead grass and pebbled mud, and wept aloud as if she had just thrown the first fist of dirt on his bare casket.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione and Xenophilius' Winter's Tale by nagandsev

Chapter Two: A Matter of Statutes

Summary: Pushing herself to carry on as usual, grief-stricken, vexed and determined Hermione runs into the loathsome defendant, Lucius Malfoy, for a battle of the wills.

* * *

As Hermione sat on the cold, muddy ground beside Ronald's tomb, having wept herself into an exhausted state, she numbly reflected on how it had been merely a few hours since _it_ happened. Since she snapped. Since everything in one crystal moment became clear. _What I must do..._

_Take the children, leave London, leave the Ministry, simplify things... simplify my life... get away from him, it, this whole treacherous, mindless, corrupt world!_

Only three hours ago, she had been in the Ministry of Magic, going through the motions of what her life had become. The cold mausoleum walls of the Ministry bore down on Interrogator Hermione Weasley. In one split second, it all had become utterly overwhelming.

Breaking into a cold sweat, she had fled the adjourned Wizengamot proceedings to seek shelter in her office chambre, but had halted outside the dungeon courtroom in the dimly lit corridor, leaning against the cool marble tiles to collect herself. She felt the oppressive, stagnant air crushing down on her and gulped for oxygen.

She wanted to scream out loud, so vexed and frustrated by the hypocrisy of what had just occurred. Wanting to kick something, she irrationally reprimanded herself. _Why? Why did I listen to everybody? I wasn't ready for this—I wasn't ready to come back so soon!_

With the advice and support of Harry and Ginny, as well as all of the Weasley family, she had returned to work shortly after Ron's death. For a while it had seemed to be a healthy distraction, an expedient way to help the healing process of her grieving, and so Hermione had thrown herself into her new position as an Interrogator with all of its challenges and seemingly absorbing intrigue.

But little by little, the novelty wore off as deeper and deeper the horror and pain of the murder of her children's father—her childhood mate, partner for life, and lover—sunk further in... lost forever; unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried to cover this suffering, the unbearable truth could not be ignored.

The cruel reality of it was an indescribable, frightening void, gaping out and surrounding her in the middle of the night whenever she awoke and reached out for her deceased beloved—searching for the missing presence in her life. In the middle of the day, when she had an impulse to visit him at Auror Headquarters, Hermione froze on the spot, confused, and was forced to accept again and again that Ronald was not there... forever gone... Particularly bitter were the frequent habitual thoughts which included Ron in daily plans; thus again, the sharp stabbing pain of reality cut through the fleeting illusions that he was still alive and would be walking through the doorway at any given moment.

In her grief-stricken mindset, she was left with only one choice: weekly visits to his grave to share with him what he could not corporeally witness. _But he can in spirit!_ _We can spiritually commune!_

And so, Hermione had faithfully visited and shared her and the children's lives with Ronald; she convinced herself that she was actually gaining and sustaining a nourishing strength from this vigilance and devotion. But recently, shove it to the side as she might, the anticipation and meaning of the visits had begun to consume her waking and non-waking moments. She had become more and more distracted, despondent, and frustratingly bored by all that she had previously worked so hard to attain within the Ministry. Her life's work – the blood, sweat and tears that not only she but also all who'd sacrificed in common pursuit for true justice – had come under danger.

It had been a long and windy road from when Hermione had first found employment with the Ministry of Magic as an advocate for the better treatment of house-elves, working with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, to being promoted into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Finally, at long last, cases from overdue indictments were put into action; her life's work had reached it's culmination and fruition, finally set into motion.

Which was why, especially now, even through personal angst from her devastating loss in her personal life, she pushed herself to carry on. She had finally achieved a high position in the Magical Law Enforcement department, alongside other members of the Wizengamot panel encharged with interrogation of accused individuals. However, the case she had just acted as the main prosecutor and interrogator for, the court procedure and pronounced adjourned judgement on the case, left her swallowing back the bile rising in her throat.

It was all suffocating her.

Hermione patted her forehead, where beads of perspiration formed, and tried to calm her temper, which was surging as thoughts of the events of the past hour repeated themselves.

_Corruption! The entire court procedure... There's something wrong with the Special Advisor Doge—how could he have sided in Malfoy's favour, for a prolonged adjournment? The statements, evidence and witnesses were irrefutable; and yet, that vile, slippery toff has managed to infiltrate, to foil the system yet again!_

Infuriated, Hermine huffed and launched herself from leaning on the wall to return to her office. Fuming at the suspicion of wrongdoing going on, underminding everyone's years and years of hard efforts, she blindly ran straight into her dreaded nemesis: Lucius Malfoy.

The notoriously clever, exclusive wizard solicitor, Lester Qualmsick, accompanied the Malfoy patriarch. Qualmsick, upon seeing who it was that had bumped into his client, swiftly made a polite excuse and motioned for Lucius to ignore the Wizengamot Interrogator and continue onward with him. "Lucius, let's be on our way, shall we—"

Smelling blood, Malfoy raised a hand to quiet him. "On the contrary, Qualmsick, if chief Interrogator..." Lucius paused, his grimace deepening as he looked Hermione over from head to toe in suppressed disgust, "_Weasley _has anything further to say to me in person," he leered at her, "I'm all ears."

Hermione bit her tongue; she would not allow herself to be goaded by him to respond, but at the same time, she was not immune—on the contrary, she was even more livid. His trademark arrogant sneer spurred it on. Moreover, the frustration she felt percolated almost uncontrollably upon being within arms reach of the loathsome defendant.

She could feel his vitriolic energy, volatile and dangerous—no court of law could nor would ever change Malfoy's indoctrinated, hardcore hatred_. Hatred of all things different from him, but I will not fuel his mentality. I'll not empower him with further attention. Everything I had to say about him, I have said it. In a court of law. I will not lower myself to his level_.

Bracing herself, Hermione resolved not to respond to any provocation he may throw at her. She would not stoop so low. She was going to hold her tongue and walk away with dignity. She reminded herself, _Go to your office, check for any further messages, leave, and go to Ronald. Focus, Hermione, focus! _

It was the springtime equinox, and today was the day she'd promised herself to clean her husband's grave.

So, she mustered up her nerves and gave Lucius an equally cool stare and proceeded to pass him by without comment.

Malfoy's jaw muscle's clenched in throbbing tension; he would provoke a response out of the Mudblood one way or another.

"Nothing?" He taunted her cloyingly, "Not even a congratulations?"

Hermione froze. _Congratulations for what?_

Sensing the witch's façade would burst if he'd just prick her in the right way, Lucius took a step towards the repressed widow. "Pity. I'd thought you'd at least be capable of that..." _Mudblood._

Hermione didn't need to hear the word to know what the blond pureblood wizard was thinking—the hateful sneer on his face said it all. She instinctively went to her neutral zone. She went numb. She could only blink at him.

It had been a horridly difficult case, seemingly in vain, prosecuting Lucius Malfoy. She had waited for years for this case to be brought forth for trial, and then only to be adjourned, thwarted by the clever Qualmsick pulling out his last line of defence with a wild card: the matter of a statute of limitation on all affidavits and litigation concerning those against his client, Lucius Malfoy. It was claimed that time had run out regarding the longstanding recriminations on the abuse of house-elves and other magical creatures, as well as the long list of war crimes supposedly done against wizards and witches by Malfoy during Voldemort's last reign ending in the Second Wizarding War.

However, due to there not being any precursors for many of these first time indictments, the nature of these proceedings led to the court adjourning, to be reconvened at an indefinite later date.

"You must feel so _unsatisfied._ The feeling of failure, futility must be... inexpressible for you," continued Malfoy, his cold, grey eyes gave way to the slightest glint of malice underlying his words. "A kind of inexpressible _grief_."

Hermione gave a fleeting glance to Malfoy's solicitor Qualmsick, who averted his eyes, and she motioned to pass by Lucius as she replied, "No comment."

Mockingly, he called out, "Well, well, if the Muggle founder and defender of SPEW herself cares not for a thorough requital for me—a justly deserved penalty, what is one to think? Interrogator Weasley, wasn't that pound of flesh you pleaded so pitifully for in vain? Hmm? Justice for the weak, the defenseless, the protection of lesser magical beings?" Menacingly, he stepped closer to her. "House-elves, Muggle-borns and other inferior creatures of the like have no equal place in true Wizarding society." Lucius' jaw muscles clenched in suppressed tension. "I may yet be forced to pay some measly Galleons for your otiose and offensive meddlesome attempts to seek retribution, but let me state for the record to you personally: I have no regrets. Nor will I ever have." He repeated harshly, "Ever."

Breathing deeply to still her nerves, Hermione lifted her head slightly and responded, "Your objections have been duly noted, Mr Malfoy, both now and in the court room. Perhaps your solicitor should remind you to watch your tongue whilst in my presence. I am an officer of the court, no matter of your particular personal opinion about me. Now, if you'll excuse me." She motioned for him to move aside, which he did not do.

Brown eyes met his challenging cold, grey ones. _I will not be unnerved by you, Lucius Malfoy!_

They stared each other down for several seconds.

Then, Lucius seemingly gave in and calculatingly said, "I'm not totally unfeeling to your unmercenary causes and distress, Ms Weasley. On a personal note—"

Hermione couldn't control herself and flinched.

"I must take this opportunity to offer my condolences to you."

This was what she had least expected to hear from Lucius Malfoy, of all people, and the shock of it caught her off guard; she could not help but lower her shields a tad and softly reply, "Thank you, Mr Malfoy."

But this was just what Lucius wished for, her vulnerable spot: her dead husband. Grey eyes glinting with malice, he took a step into her and spoke, barely audible, "You can't begin to imagine what it means to me knowing that there is... one less Weasley in the world... one less Weasley to despatch..."

The sound of a hand slapping a face thudded dully in the dim corridors, absorbed instantly by the merciless black walls.

It wasn't the attack on his person that made Lucius Malfoy's eyes grow wide—he'd rather liked that little surprise, having intended to cause _some _response from the dirty little Mudblood—but the words accompanying the provoked act, registering slowly in his ears, made his blood boil.

"You, filth," whispered Hermione fiercely, looking straight into the pureblood supremacist's icy grey eyes. "You utter, utter load of filth!"

* * *

A/N: My deepest thanks and gratitude to the one and only linlawless for her generous time, care and wonderful beta skills—thank you!


	3. Chapter 3 Miracles & Mulishness

Chapter Three: Of Miracles and Mulishness by nagandsev

Summary: Some things have never changed, and Hermione seeks solace and freedom from her exacerbating fears, only to have an ill-fated event challenge her remaining resolution as well as spark some old belligerence between her and a certain flossy-haired wizard.

* * *

oOoOoOo

Qualmsick grabbed Malfoy's arm before he could act against Hermione in any way and firmly instructed, "Walk away, Lucius. Come with me. Just walk away."

Hermione was frozen in lost moments of time as she beheld Lucius Malfoy's enraged grimace: Ron's death, flashes of her abuse in Malfoy manor, and Lucius' insults—all clambered around in her head, causing her to feel dizzy with vertigo, and the sensation roared down the words that she'd just heard herself say: _You filth. You utter, utter load of filth!_

The Malfoy patriarch, however, had found his voice. "You'll regret that our paths ever crossed again," snarled Lucius in a low voice. "You'll rue the day that you ever dared to utter those words to me."

Suddenly, the door to the Wizengamot chamber opened fully, and members started to filter out into the corridor.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Lester tugged Lucius slowly away toward the lift.

Hermione was seized by an irrational force and blurted out, "You can dish it out, but you can't take it, can you, Malfoy?"

Qualmsick gripped Lucius' arm with a steel grip to keep the former Death Eater from lunging at her.

"_Dish_ it out?" hissed Lucius, his eyes narrowing. "Is that what you want, you little—"

"Lucius, this is neither the time nor the place," Qualmsick reminded him fiercely, and then the solicitor whispered something in the blond wizard's ear, causing Malfoy to halt immediately.

A cold chill went down Hermione's spine from Lucius' sinister visage, which then was unexpectedly mirrored by Qualmsick as well. A sickening sensation washed over her, and she had a flashback of being surrounded by Death Eaters, as she was years ago in the Department of Mysteries when helping Harry search for his prophecy. Remembering Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville, her other companions on that memorable day in the Ministry, she was gripped with a burning ache in her chest.

_Ronald! So much has changed._ Her eyes welled up with tears as she stared at Lucius and realised, _And yet, so little!_

Lucius smiled sardonically, noting and taking credit for her renewed painful expression, and allowed Lester to guide him away from the growing cluster of court officials to the lift.

As if hypnotised, Hermione watched and followed them.

As the lift's doors opened, Lucius turned around and balefully mouthed a curse at Hermione.

Instinctively, Hermione's wand had flashed upwards to Shield herself, but nothing, seemingly, struck her.

Lucius leered at her, satisfied, and then Hermione saw Qualmsick and Malfoy enter and disappear as the lift hurled them away. She broke out in cold sweat again and heard Minister Shacklebolt's booming low voice calling out to her as everything went dark.

oOoOoOo

Hermione had blacked out for only a few minutes. Lucius' ominous image was the first thing that appeared in her mind's eye when she came to in her office chamber. She had been carried there by Shacklebolt himself, but as soon as she had collected her wits enough, despite the concerns of her colleagues, she fled the Ministry.

Now, as she sat on the cold ground beside her husband's mound, having wept until there was only a void of emptiness left inside her, she mindlessly continued to brush the decayed foliage off his grave, here and there, unaware of time and coldness. So unaware of her surroundings, she wasn't alert to someone Apparating behind her.

"Hermione?"

The recognition of the voice registered vaguely. The touch of caring hands, carefully helping her to stand, caused a dull ache to throb in her chest. As she felt Harry's arms gently surround and hold her, she felt so very light-headed. A darkness seemed to be billowing towards her, sucking out her remaining strength.

"Hermione?" Harry squeezed and held her tighter; she laid her head on his shoulder, feeling so weak. "Shacklebolt has told me everything he knows. Lucius didn't curse you with anything that we can trace—no doubt he just wanted to unnerve you a bit." Hermione moaned pitifully, and Harry frowned in deep concern and thought, _She's delirious and exhausted! _

Potter gave Ron's grave a solemn gaze, and then he whispered above his dearest friend's frizzy hair as he felt her relax her body weight against him, "I'm going to take you home now, Hermione. You can tell me your side of the story later."

"The children, Harry?"

"Ginny's watching them—they're with us at Grimmauld Place."

"Harry... What has happened? What have I done? I shouldn't have—I couldn't help myself. Malfoy—"

Harry's nostrils flared in controlled anger. "Don't you worry about Lucius—Kingsley told me enough for now. I've got Malfoy's number, as well as Qualmsick's—don't fret a second longer. I'll take care of them both."

"No, Harry, you don't understand—"

"With a few other Aurors, we'll put the fear of Merlin into them. Lucius won't dare come near you."

Hermione raised her head. "Lucius mouthed a curse at me—Harry, you didn't see how he leered at me—it was more loathsome than Bellatrix's was when... and I lost my control! Lucius said, you see, he said—" she gulped at the air to breathe, "He was glad Ronald's dead, one less Weasley in the world!" She began to sob anew. "He's such a horrid, horrid—"

Hermione gazed wildly around to Ron's grave, pushing away from Harry. "Nothing's changed! Ronald gave his life to rid the world of _that_ mentality, but nothing's changed! After all this time, Malfoy is as despicable, bigoted and evil as ever! Nothing's changed, Harry! Nothing's changed!" she repeated over and over until she became incoherent, utterly exhausted.

Harry took his childhood friend into his arms again and held her until he felt her go limp, resigning herself to his help. Assured she was finally calm and still enough, he immediately seized the moment to Apparate them to number twelve Grimmauld Place.

oOoOoOo

Springtime at The Burrow brought forth blossoms and fragrances of all kinds, from the orchard behind the garden to the warm scents of sweet powders and fragrances floating, wafting to and fro, from the kitchen. The comforting coziness of Molly's hearth and home was as welcoming as ever, and little Rose and Hugo had melted under the indulgent attention given by Arthur and Molly; and as children will, they bounced back to their fervent and playful selves in no time after moving in.

It was only sporadically, at night, when one of them would awake in confusion and cry out for their father, unable to awaken from a nightmarish fear that things had become more difficult to deal with. Those were the worst nights; but as Hermione gazed out at the large, overgrown, gnome-filled garden of The Burrow, she sighed and gave thanks that the daytime hours and activities erased the dubious and unpredictable evening ones. Temporarily.

It was on these occasions, during these night terrors, that Hermione grew more and more numb, feeling more and more helpless, feeling unable to offer any solace verbally to her children from their feelings of anxiety and fear, their vivid hallucinations.

_Or are they mine?_ She was unable to remember the specific details of many of her own turbulent dreams, and she frequently awakened in a cold sweat, overwhelmed by an elusive but intense state of agitation.

Only one recurring dream could she remember in discomfiting detail: a distorted image of Ron peering forth from an undefined blackness, his body and face half shadowed, and then Hermione would feel the sensation of indescribable pain and heat… a state of sexual excitement would occur, always followed by a sickening sensation and Lucius Malfoy appearing in dark robes; then she was falling, plummeting to her death in darkness, flailing around and grasping to cling to any substance, to any life line, but without avail. She awoke each time, panting and trembling in a state of confusion and shame, and dreaded returning to sleep for fear of the nightmare replaying.

Regarding the children, she was only able to hug them and cradle them as if they were infants, shushing and lulling them back to sleep with sweet nothings and soft lullabies. When they were once again in deep slumber, Hermione was left with little to comfort herself, and the tedium of the long, lonely nights, too often sleepless and awake with her evasive fears and worries, awaited her.

The repetitive events drained her of warmth in body and soul; a hard freeze seemed to cover and spread throughout her innermost core each time. The growth and effect of this numbness became noticeable to her more and more distinctly. She began to doubt herself in everything. She no longer knew if it was all in her mind, or if Lucius was indeed the main reason or perhaps merely partially responsible. Worse still, she felt as if her very life force were withdrawing and detaching itself even as her magical power slowly ebbed away – all from the grief of losing Ron – for she no longer had the concentration and zest she had felt so intensely before. Her heart ached, and it seemed only her children kept her tethered to the here and now; however, this cloud of depression and self-doubt had accumulatively hung over her for so long, she could not distinguish further the causes, though she knew her condition had been deeply exacerbated by the incident with Malfoy and Qualmsick.

But now, the warmth of the radiant sunbeams on her face helped to push worries aside for the moment, and she glanced back into the kitchen to see Molly bustling back and forth preparing a basket of fresh baked goodies for her and the children to take on their afternoon walks in the meadows down to the river to play.

Hermione caught Arthur giving his wife a loving kiss, and then her father-in-law grabbed a pumpkin and cinnamon muffin and waved to Hermione before quickly Flooing to work. She smiled sadly to herself, remembering what Arthur had reassured her about,_ The Minister said to take as long as you need for your leave of absence. Or, if you'd like, you may work from home on the litigations; whenever you feel up to it, you'll let us know. Just take your time, dear. Take as long as you need._

And so she had. For the past few months, she hadn't the slightest inclination to lift a single parchment sent from the Ministry; she'd left all the owl deliveries on her desk in the study to collect dust. A numbing inertia crept up silently on her regarding all work-related matters, and she decisively gave what energy she had to the children and daily obligations with only the slightest trace of a nagging guilt regarding her Interrogator duties.

Moreover, today was a good day. A hot spell had blown in and with it a dull restlessness on Hermione's part; the unusual heat wave beckoned her away outside and out of her brooding.

So, as Hermione stood in the main doorway watching Rose and Hugo attempting to catch frogs in the garden's pond, she resolutely decided to make the extra effort to relax and put all her cares away for the afternoon. With the sunlight beaming down, unseasonably hot and glorious, she smiled down at the two Flutterby bushes which had been planted so long ago for Bill and Fleur's wedding. The beguiling little plants still stood; the leaves fluttering softly in the mild afternoon breeze.

As Hermione gathered up a blanket from the clothing line, she gazed over the orchard towards the closest sloping hill and caught sight of puffy chimney smoke floating slowly against the bright sky from beyond the hill. She had noticed the smoke before, but she'd never thought or cared to ask about it. _How odd… Whose could that be?_

Before she could make enquiries, Molly bustled over and handed Hermione the prepared picnic basket. "It's ready, dear; now you best be off to enjoy the afternoon. Arthur said he heard on the wireless that a fierce storm front is likely to push through soon."

Eager to enjoy as much of the good weather as they could, Hermione and the children walked leisurely down the long lane leading from The Burrow, and instead of heading straight towards the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, they turned left and back-tracked, walking away from the cornfield, and strode over the fields towards the hills in the back of the orchard and garden.

The healing powers of the meadows surrounding The Burrow could not be overstated. There was something about the sunlight on the golden, open fields full of primroses, gilly and poppies that drew Hermione to them, and she soon began to relax.

Once over the second small hill, the lush meadow began sloping down to the slow-flowing river bed; their daily afternoon walks had become a fixed part of an unspoken regimen which Molly had gently nudged Hermione and the children into. _More for my sake than for Hugo and Rose, no doubt,_ reflected Hermione, thinking about Molly's intense, heartfelt concern for her and the children. The death of her sons, Fred and now Ronald, was an unspeakable pain for Molly; she and Hermione could communicate and comfort each other at times with just a nod of the head, a knowing smile or a quiet hug. No words were necessary.

It was Molly who had helped them find their favourite spot on the lovely, grassy bank of the river near Bottom Bridge. And as soon as they arrived there this sunny afternoon, Hermione spread out the blanket and set the basket of fresh baked treats on top. Rose and Hugo immediately took off their shoes, over-excited to wade and enjoy the shallow, stone-bottomed water along the bank.

"Mummy, can we go in the water now, before we eat—it's so lovely and sparkly. Pretty please?" begged Rose.

Rose was soon to be eleven and did the talking for both herself and Hugo; Hugo had stopped speaking since Ron's death. He'd been a late speaker as it was—no uttering a comprehensible word until he was five, and now he was nine, the Healer's at St Mungo said that when he was ready, he'd speak again; the shock of the loss of his father was enough to regress him and that it was 'normal'. Everyone would have to be supportive and just wait out his recovery from the traumatic event of his father's death.

However, Hugo would softly say 'Mummy' now and then—in particular, when Hermione would cradle and soothe him from a nightmare, and sometimes he would utter 'Rose', but not consistently.

Unable to deny them, Hermione reminded them, "Yes, but remember, only in the shallow, pebbled area—no further."

Hugo nodded excitedly and Rose grabbed his hand, leading him down to the bank. With squeals of delight, the children took off their summer legwear, tossing it on the grassy bank, and in the blink of an eye began wading in the sunlit water.

As Hermione laid out some muffins and scones, the sounds of splashing each other was heard. She smiled, enjoying the sight of Rose and Hugo playing and able to express their happiness so freely, so innocently and joyfully.

Hermione sat on the blanket, cushioned by the thick summer grass, and sighed. A gentle breeze was blowing, and she noted massive, billowing clouds from the north in the distance. _Hmm... The storm is indeed coming sooner than later, but maybe it won't get here for hours..._

She lay back and stretched out on the warm blanket, savouring the softness of the lush earth underneath like a big, warm eiderdown duvet, and heaved a heavy sigh again. Her thoughts drifted like the fluffy cumulus clouds quickly drawing closer and closer. _Ron would've loved a day like today... the sun, the air, the children enjoying themselves—_

"Mummy! It's Hugo, Mummyyyy!" came the cry of Rose.

Springing up in a flash of panic, Hermione ran and leapt into the water, seeing little Hugo bob further and further away—everything happening as if in slow motion—he was being sucked deeper into the main stream, and the faster she moved the further he was carried away. "_Accio! Accio_ wand!" she screamed, simultaneously splashing and diving into the water in a split second decision. But her concentration for Summoning was wildly split and unfocused, and no wand appeared. As she came up for air, gasping, she could not see him above the water. She screamed madly, "Hugo! Hugooo! Rose, stay where you are! Hugo!"

Time stood still, her heart pounded with a burning pain. She couldn't breathe. _Oh, God, let me die, let me die! But let him live... Accio, Accio, Hugo!_

Rose's screams and cries from the bank reverberated in the air.

In blind terror and unable to feel the bottom of the river anymore, Hermione desperately swam and splashed around, groping in the dark waters for her son's body—and at that moment, her eye caught sight of another figure, a man of some sort, materialised, blurred and moving, emerging from the water with—

"Hugo!" Splashing and splaying frantically to get out, now feeling the bottom, Hermione lunged forward in spastic movements towards the figures, screaming, mad with fear. "Don't touch him! Let go of him! Is he? Is he—?"

Hysteria took over as she collapsed beside Hugo's body, instinctively and fiercely pushing the man away from her son's body. But the tall figure didn't budge. Before she knew what was happening, the soaking wet, flossy-haired stranger had pulled out a wand, and with a flick of it, Hugo had rolled over, vomiting out the river water.

The wizard was fixated on Hugo and continued to calmly cast various Healing spells on the child, ignoring Hermione's pushing and, by now, hysterical weeping.

Now thoroughly unimpeded, the oxygen was able to flow through to his little lungs, and the child cried out, "Mummy, Mummy!" Hugo sporadically choked and clung to his mother for dear life.

Rose ran over and latched onto Hermione from behind.

"There's nothing to fear," the tall wizard assured kindly, straightening up and stepping back timidly a few steps from the distressed, weeping family. "He is breathing normally. No water in the lungs. He will be fine."

Tightly clutching Hugo in one arm and Rose in the other, Hermione gazed at the wizard with a mixture of astonishment and apprehension. Through a haze of simultaneous shock and relief, she couldn't believe her eyes. "Mr Lovegood?"

Xenophilius held Hermione's gaze, seeming to have some internal conflict with himself, abashed and embarrassed, not knowing what to answer. After several seconds, he found his words to nervously utter, "Miss Gran—um, Weasley, I assume you're staying..." The man who'd just saved her son's life seemed utterly ashamed and troubled, but still he offered, "I'll Apparate to The Burrow and bring back help."

"No!" screamed Hermione anxiously. She panted heavily, but controlled herself enough to say, "Don't leave us; don't leave us alone!"

Both children looked up at the tall candy-floss-haired wizard for his answer, scared and apprehensive from their mother's plea. In a small voice, little Rose asked, "What's wrong with my mummy? Hugo's awake—he threw up the bad water! He didn't go to sleep forever like Daddy... Why is she scared?" Rose began to whimper softly.

Hermione and Xenophilius locked eyes, one soul understanding the other's past loss, as well as the detrimental fear of another narrowly escaped loss of life, all too well.

Xenophilius blinked hard. Somewhere in his distant memories something clicked. Something painful, vivid. But alive. So alive.

Frightened and confused by her mother's now uncontrollable sobbing, the child repeated, "What's wrong with my mummy? Hugo's awake—you just said he'll be all right! Why is she crying?"

Xeno ever so slowly raised his hands while gracefully kneeling down so that he was eye-level with Rose.

"Sometimes tears, my little one, are _good_ things. Sometimes, they are tears of joy."

Rose's eyes grew wider with surprise.

Seizing the moment to further distract and take matters into hand, Xeno raised his eyebrows in a speculative way and enquired, "Have you ever seen a Patronus Charm, my dear?"

Subduing her sniffles, Rose nodded her head affirmatively. "My daddy and Uncle Harry showed me and Hugo." Her eyes shone with excited pride as she added, "Mummy and Auntie Ginny know how to do one too—even though they're witches!"

Xenophilius gave an impressed look and gently smiled, but Hermione could see his eyes were strained, covering a raw pain. "Well, that's no surprise." He lowered his voice to a friendly whisper and shared a secret, "Witches are the fairest and most powerful of magical creatures—let no one tell you different! And it so happens that your Aunt Ginny and your mother are the fairest and most magical of those."

He gave a cordial nod to Hermione, and then Xeno looked back to Rose and continued good-naturedly, "As you're surely one of the good Weasley family, what might your first name be?"

"I'm Rose."

"Of course, you are, the loveliest little flower—"

"Do you know my grandmum?"

"Your grandmother is widely renowned throughout the land, as only the good Molly Weasley can be—you're staying with her, then?"

Rose nodded.

"And was she home when you left?"

Rose nodded more vigorously.

"Well, then, let's cast a Patronus, letting your grandmother know where we are, shall we?"

Xenophilius cast the Patronus Charm, and a large hare issued forth from his wand's end, hopping in front of Xeno for a mere moment before bounding off in the direction of The Burrow.

Knowing it would only be seconds before the Weasley matriarch would arrive, Xeno sat back on the grass, seemingly tranquil and serene. As he smiled at Rose and Hugo, a slight twinkle shone in his grey-blue eyes, and he waved his wand and had several daises, wildflowers and primroses animatedly dance an upbeat jig for the children.

His captivating their full attention allowed Hermione to finally voice her thoughts. "I didn't see you."

"I was under an Invisibility Spell," answered Xenophilius casually, his attention divided between keeping the flowers dancing and gauging the children's mirth as he completely avoided eye contact with her.

Now in heavy thought, Hermione blinked in consternation at the incongruous situation and the wizard in front of her. It was in another lifetime that she had last seen Lovegood, and there were still dubious thoughts attached to him and even more dubious feelings. She was conflicted because she'd never thought much about Xenophilius Lovegood since that horrible day she, Ron and Harry had visited his home, seeking knowledge about the Deathly Hallows, so many years ago.

Now and then, she'd seen and spoken with Luna and Rolf Scamander, but to her embarrassment, Hermione realised she'd never enquired much about Luna's father on those occasions. They were always quick chit-chats about their careers and their own children with only general references to anyone else not immediately involved in their lives.

Perhaps her lack of enquiry was influenced by and partially due to Ron having so strongly disliked Lovegood in the first place, followed by his keen aversion and scathing criticism of Xenophilius after that ill-fated day when they discovered and experienced his betrayal firsthand. Ron had never liked keeping silent about it all, but as only the three of them had known the truth of Lovegood's forced betrayal, and respecting Harry's wishes, primarily, both he and Hermione had resolved that they'd never reveal Luna's father's disgraceful behaviour on that horrid day. For everyone's sake, they put the matter behind them.

And so Hermione could only blink in turmoil, conflicted with random disdainful thoughts about Xenophilius, but also thanking God for Lovegood's presence as she clutched her children closer to her. _It's a miracle—Lovegood saved Hugo's life!_

The children's soft giggles at the delightful silliness of Xenophilius' Light magic entertaining them suddenly irritated Hermione, causing her to bluntly ask, "Mr Lovegood, how is it that you were even here? Why were you under an Invisibility Spell?"

Again the wizard diverted his eyes from her demanding ones, but he quietly answered, "Usually, one uses them when one doesn't wish to be seen." He gave her a fleeting glance and mulishly added, "By anyone."

Even in her highly emotional state, she felt slightly irked by his response and couldn't help wanting to know further details. With a huff, Hermione took in Xeno with an irritated look while he continued to entertain Hugo and Rose and thought, _How dare you be pedantic with me at a time like this?_ An old obstinacy flared up in her unexpectedly, and Hermione belligerently demanded to know, "What were you doing here in the river in the first place?"

Giving a wary look around, but still unable to meet her intense brown eyes straight on, Xenophilius took his time and guided the dancing flowers to the top of the tall blades of grass between them before he intractably replied, "Why, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies, of course, Ms Weasley."

oOoOoOo

A/N: The greatest appreciation to the awesome linlawless for her generous heart, time and beta skills!


	4. Chapter 4 Of Tempests Past and Present

Hermione and Xenophilius' Winter's Tale by nagandsev

Chapter Four: Of Tempests Past and Present

Summary: A violent storm erupts, sweeping tempestuous memories to the forefront for both Hermione and Xenophilius.

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oOoOoOo

Hermione blinked at Xenophilius and frowned in consternation.

Doubting completely that he was fishing for Freshwater Plimpies and not appreciating his mulish tone one bit, she opened her mouth to rebuke him, but at that very second, a loud crack of thunder broke above them. The sky had turned dark with low, ominous clouds flying speedily by, and the wind blew with the fierce strength of an erratic force, causing Hermione to clasp the children even tighter to her. The children cried out in fright as the sudden thunderstorm flashed its lightning bolts sporadically here and there across the sky.

Xeno jumped up, his brow furrowed, perplexed as to why Molly had not yet responded to his Patronus. Heavy raindrops began to plop down, threatening to transform into hail at any second as the wind gusted wildly. In a split second decision, Xeno turned to Hermione and said, "Come. Let me help you Apparate the children back to The Burrow."

"No," answered Hermione, rejecting his offer immediately. Even though he had been more than gallant, she irrationally disliked the thought of Lovegood taking one of her children for Side-Along-Apparation. But even more strongly, she distressfully doubted herself, so discombobulated by her night terrors she had become, affecting her magical powers. She didn't want to splinch her children, let alone herself.

A pained look crossed Xeno's face for a second, but then he waved it away and whipped his wand at the nearest tree to Summon the blanket with its contents over beside them. A multitude of leaves fluttered across the air and above them, merging with and forming a sealed canopy over the blanket. Xeno flicked his wand again, and as the rain began to pelt the improvised, leafy 'carriage', Lovegood urged, "Climb inside."

He held his free hand out to the children, while his wand hand made an opening for them to enter. "Climb on board," he instructed Hugo and Rose. "Let you travel like our mystical cousins of the East on their celestial carpets! Ms Weasley?" he urged as the rain began to beat down upon him.

The heavens opened, and Hermione could do nothing but hurry and follow her children inside.

Close by, a flash of lightning caused the children to squeal in fright, and Hermione called out to Lovegood through the sound of the storm, "And you?"

"Trust me to navigate you to shelter, at least; perhaps you can open your mind enough to see the practicality of that, Ms Weasley!" Without further ado, he swiped his wand, closing the opening, then held his wand steady, levitating the contrivance. Slowly trudging through the pouring rain, he kept them afloat and protected them from the elements.

The enclosed, canopied carpet bobbed gently to and fro like a small boat in the storm.

Hermione was both surprised and relieved that it wasn't long before they came to a halt. _Where are we?_

Xeno reopened the contraption and called out, "Hop on out, my dear Weasleys; we're here!"

Through the tempest, Hermione saw a doorway open with warm sconce lighting—a heartwarming sight.

The children scampered out of the makeshift protective covering and through a door that had opened for them. It led into a spacious circular room with a lit fireplace on the far side. Hermione felt the force of the gale wind as she quickly followed behind Hugo and Rose and sighed in relief once inside, looking around and noting the colourful array of unusual pieces of furniture and objects.

A dripping wet Xenophilius entered and placed the wicker picnic basket down on a low footstool beside a wall of shelved books. "I believe I've saved your basket; the blanket, however, is in need of a good drying spell."

And with that, he waved his wand and dried it. Giving Hermione an odd look, he hesitated and then suggested, "Perhaps, now, the children? May I?"

She nodded, and he quickly spelled them dry, but as he turned back to the young widow to offer her his wand, she squeaked suddenly, jumping back at seeing something moving in the room.

Hermione had spotted a spherical-shaped creature whose thin pink tongue had snaked out, aiming for the picnic basket full of treats.

The children turned in the direction where their mother's gaze was fixated. Upon seeing a furry little creature endeavour to scavenge their Grandmum's pastries with its long, squiggly tongue, they squealed and jumped in excitement, ready to run and catch it.

"Children, don't! Don't touch anything or— "

"It's one of my grandsons Puffskeins; actually, the house is full of the admirable little beasts."

Xeno knelt down to eye level with Rose and Hugo and waved to them to have a huddle with him. "Feel free to cuddle the complacent Puffskein and throw one about—if you can catch one, that is," challenged Xeno, waggling his eyebrows.

Rose and Hugo giggled, and Xeno gave them a further, hushed proposal. "However, if you willingly share a treat with one, the ever-docile Puffskein shall honour you with its gift of friendship and introduce you to our dignified Nifflers—one of whom shall certainly lead you to hidden treasures buried in the rich earth of which you may choose—"

"Mr Lovegood," cut off Hermione, "I don't believe Puffskeins will do anything of the sort, and there's no need to elaborate." She took a deep breath in order to explain calmly, "If you don't wish for my children to bother the creature, then just say so—there's no need to embellish the truth nor—"

But the excitable Weasley tots were already off and running, searching for the furry little creature who had silently crept into hiding.

Their playful hunting led them around and about in the oval-shaped room, which was a cozy blend of an open living-room space and study, with a grand round table designating a dining area surrounded by several large arched windows in its curved wall. Rose and Hugo soon discovered an adjoining room, decorated in a broad palette of pastels, which lit up magically the second they entered. Squeals of delight sounded forth as they found various clutters of animated carved creatures and other unusual objects scattered about inside. Over the children's whoops and hollers was heard Rose's joyous voice, "Oooh, toys! And—and other weird _funny _things!"

"Children, don't touch things that aren't yours," snapped Hermione, as a seizure of worry gripped her, remembering Lovegood's exploding Erumpent Horn from years past.

"You are welcome to play with them, little ones," called out Lovegood, contradicting her.

"Mr Lovegood!" Hermione wished not to be rude to the man in his own home, but she wasn't used to anyone undermining her authority with her children.

Her tone seemed to tell Xeno this, and he softly explained, "Please, Ms Weasley, it's only _natural_ that they should want to play."

"That's not the point, Mr Lovegood—"

"They are my Lorcan and Lysander's play things, meant for children's entertainment," he gently rebutted. "For their joy..." The tall white-haired wizard gave her a concerned gaze, looking her up and down.

His cordial admonishment caused Hermione to feel self-conscious. Flustered, she bit her lip and was about to tell Lovegood that it was her place and hers alone to tell her children what they could or could not do, when suddenly she shuddered violently from the dampness of her drenched clothing.

Noting her chilled to the bone, Xeno offered, "Ms Weasley, may I, would you like—" He started to raise his wand to cast a drying spell over her body, but stopped, suddenly aware of Hermione's wet clothing, tightly clinging to her feminine form.

Hermione saw his hesitancy and, in the instant, understood why. Seeing his stalled gaze, a brief but definitely appreciative look – even if it was a fleeting one – caused a warm flush to bud forth on her cheeks.

This physical reaction induced her to instinctively notice the drenched cloth pasted on his tall angular form. Lovegood's cotton-tunic top outlined and revealed his lean, taut torso down to his waist. The strings tying the tunic's front had come unravelled nearly all the way down, and she bit the inside of her cheeks, unable to ignore that he had soft tufts of hair from his lean, muscular chest down to and beyond his navel, forming an eye-catching joytrail.

Hermione immediately averted her eyes, feeling a strange lightheadedness.

An awkward silence ensued.

With the children's playful sounds in the background, Xenophilius gave the curly, brown-haired witch an odd look and then offered his wand. "Please, take it." He stepped forward, very gentlemanly, holding it out to her.

His height and grace hit her. _He's very tall and spare…_ Blinking, Hermione remembered the very first time she had ever seen Lovegood. _Bill and Fleur's wedding... He was so dapper and dashing..._

Another chill came over her along with a pungent sense of guilt for even noticing another man's attractiveness in such a way.

_What is wrong with me? _She shook her headed slightly and refocused on the here and now.

_He just saved my son's life, navigated us to his home for shelter and warmth, and is still standing here soaking wet in his water-filled Wellingtons. No doubt he'll find a Freshwater Plimpie or two inside them..._

"No, Mr Lovegood, dry yourself first, please," she entreated and couldn't help but add a small smile. _He's kind and thoughtful, putting us before his own needs..._ She suddenly felt the need to explain her situation a bit. "I—I don't know what is wrong with me. I completely forgot to bring my wand, and then I couldn't _Accio_—"

"No matter, Ms Weasley." He continued to hold his wand out, intent on her taking it. "I insist on you first. I shan't have my guest catch cold on my account."

Feeling they would be there all night, bantering back and forth niceties, she gave in. "Thank you, Mr Lovegood, you're most kind. You're—"

"Oh!" she gasped. For as she grasped his wand with him still holding one end of it, a dull glow issued forth, causing Xeno and Hermione both to inhale in surprise.

They simultaneously released the wand, and it fell to the floor. Xeno backed away from Hermione, slumping down on top of a side table, as if all of the air had been knocked out of him. With an incredulous, awed look, he gazed at Hermione as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

A tingling had gone through Hermione's body, and a splotch of darkness burst forth in her mind, momentarily causing everything to go dark in her vision. After several seconds, she recovered from the surge of magic from Xenophilius' wand.

With only the sounds of the children playing in the next room audible, Hermione and Xenophilius gazed warily at each other.

At long last, Xeno whispered, "It was you!" His hand unconsciously touched and pulled out an object on his chest. Hanging from a golden chain around his neck, he held a glistening symbol.

"The Deathly Hallows!" gasped Hermione.

Lovegood's mouth fell open to a perfect 'O', and he grasped the triangular eye tighter and rasped, "You are a Quester, Ms Weasley?"

In the recesses of her mind, Hermione realized her folly too late. She had revealed that she recognized exactly what the dubious symbol represented, but still, she shook her head in denial and asked, "A Quester?"

"You are a Believer?" A pained look etched Xeno's face. "You seek the Deathly Hallows, too?"

"I—I don't know what you're talking about, Mr Lovegood."

Exasperated, the burdened wizard let out a doubtful huff and challenged, "Don't you, Ms Weasley?" His features had hardened, fiercely tormented by something only known to him.

Her heart thumping wildly, Hermione's eyes widened, realizing the grave meaning of his question as well as the severity of her mistake. Trying to cover her tracks as best she could, she stammered, "No—yes, I mean! No, I mean—"

A sudden pounding on the main door saved her, and Molly Weasley's voice was heard calling out, "Xeno! It's Molly! Hermione!" There was a frantic pounding on the front door's knocker, before the Weasley matriarch did away with any formalities and burst through the front door.

Molly took in Xenophilius and Hermione standing in their wet clothing, staring at one another with dazed, appalled looks, and demanded, "Xeno! Hermione! Good Heavens! What has happened?"

oOoOoOoOo

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A/N: The greatest appreciation to the awesome linlawless for her generous heart, her precious, precious time and wonderful beta skills!


	5. Chapter 5 Dreams, Arithmancy & Runes

Chapter Five: Dreams, Arithmancy & Runes by nagandsev

A/N: It is with the greatest, deepest gratitude that I thank my alpha beta, the one and only, Proulxes! This chapter would never have happened if not for her and her special gift of generosity and insight, let alone her brilliant writing skills, and knowing exactly what to ask to nudge my Muse along. Also, regarding the character reference in this chapter/story to Luna's mother, until the goddess Rowling reveals Mrs Lovegood's name on Pottermore or elsewhere, I've given her the name of Hibiscus. All characters and the world of HP belong to the divine JKR; I'm just playing with them in another playpen.

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Summary: Hermione struggles with her increasingly troublesome dreams, leading her to seek Xenophilius for help.

oOoOoOoOo

Hands on hips, Molly stared in expectation at Hermione, looking alarmingly like a sabre-toothed tiger in place of her usual kind-faced countenance. In the silence that followed, Hermione watched Molly snap a look at Xenophilius, who was staring at the diminutive matriarch in slack-jawed horror, and then back again to her.

When neither answered her, Molly bustled forward, pulling her shirtsleeves up to her elbows, "Good heavens, look at you two, you're soaking wet—and whose wand is this on the floor?" Molly Accio'ed it into one hand while swishing her own wand first at Hermione and then Xenophilius in order to dry them. "Arthur and I," Arthur entered as she rattled on, "received your Patronus while we were in the middle of… Xeno—what on earth has happened? '_Your family is with me—they need you—__down on the banks beyond Bottom Bridge,' _your hare said—we Apparated there, but couldn't find a soul in sight! Told Arthur we should try the next nearest place—and it turns out you are here! Thank goodness, but what a goose chase! What with it raining Kneazles and Crups out there!"

Molly was flustered and clearly put out, her clothes were askew and her face flushed with emotion. Hermione suddenly wondered what activity Molly and Arthur had been in the middle of doing when Xeno had sent his Patronus. She bit her lip to prevent a small smile crossing her features at the thought, and softly said, "We were waiting—and it began to pour down..."

Hermione was saved Molly's exasperated response by Arthur appearing at the doorway, looking similarly disheveled and flushed. "A little bit of water never harmed anyone," Arthur joked good-naturedly. "Sorry, Molly and I were, um, delayed. But Mollykins got here first, I see."

His wife shot him a _look_. "I searched for them on the other bank's side a bit, but then Apparated straight here, Arthur. Couldn't bear not knowing whether we had to continue looking for them." She folded her arms again, clearly not mollified.

Arthur walked over to Molly and squeezed her shoulder gently. "All's well, love," he murmured. "I spot-checked on the way on up here... through your orchards, Xeno. Looks to be a fine harvest this year." The offhanded compliment clearly intended to lessen the tension in the air.

"But what in heaven's name happened to warrant sending a Patronus?" demanded Molly.

"Grandmum, Grandmum!" cried Rose, running into the room followed by Hugo. She lunged and threw her arms around her grandmother, and Arthur also found Hugo suddenly clinging to him as well.

There was a hubbub of gasping and cooing as Rose burbled out the chain of events which had occurred. "Oh, goodness me! Oh, Hermione! Oh, Hugo! Oh, Xeno!" The litany of exclamations poured forth from Molly while Arthur stood by, wide-eyed in astonishment, only to slowly gravitate toward Lovegood and grab him by one shoulder as he shook his hand in deep gratitude.

Molly crossed over, too overcome to say anything, and gave Xenophilius a hearty hug. When she finally could, she gently uttered, "This'll be your wand then, dear Xeno," and she placed it reverently on the side table he'd been leaning on.

Hermione saw the flaxen-haired wizard stare at the wand with a peculiar expression on his face, almost as if he was evaluating something in his mind. His silver grey eyes meeting hers for a fleeting glance as Arthur scooped Rose up in one arm and took Hugo in one hand.

"Let's be getting these two back to The Burrow—"

Hugo broke away from his grandfather and ran over to the footstool to grab the picnic basket of goodies that had been saved from the downpour by Xeno.

To everyone's surprise, the littlest Weasley then crossed over to Xenophilius and tugged at the tall wizard's tunic to get his direct attention.

"Yes, little one?" asked Lovegood, forced out of his contemplation.

The young child reached in the basket and pulled out a muffin. He held it up to Xeno, and to everyone's surprise, blurted out, "Puffskein!"

All froze in shock.

It was the first word that Hugo had uttered to someone else other than Hermione and Rose since Ron's death. Hermione gasped and batted away tears welling up and threatening to flow. She felt Molly's supportive touch on her arm and mustered the control to hold her tears in_. I have to be strong in front of everyone—can't let them see tears! _

Xeno raised a speculative eyebrow, clearly understanding Hugo. "Ah, yes. A treat for the admirable beast. Well done, little one. I will make sure the deserving creature receives your kind gift of Weasley goodness."

Xenophilius gently placed his hand on the boy's head and smiled tautly.

"That'll do, Hugo," said Hermione, gently nudging her son away from Lovegood.

Arthur hoisted Hugo up, now holding both grandchildren to him like a grandfather bear with two little cubs. He waltzed them to the front door. "Here you go, you little rascals; like Fred and George, you are, getting yourselves into all sorts of mischief."

At the mention of her beloved twins, Molly gave a tight, sad smile, but quickly covered it up with a forced cheerful announcement, "Yes, we best be getting back and let Xeno here get some rest from us all."

Meeting each other's eyes, Hermione gazed at Xenophilius and he gave her a fixed look back. Words stuck in her throat, and she could only give him a terse nod and quietly acknowledge, "Mr Lovegood."

She trembled with pent up emotion and bit her lip, reigning in her perplexed feelings about the conflicting impulses she was battling with at the moment. She wanted to cling to the wizard and hug him in gratitude as her mother-in-law had had the freedom to do, thanking and pouring her heartfelt appreciation out to him. _But I can't! He's... he's... Xenophilius Lovegood... Lovegood, who happened to be there in the river just when we were... who just happened to be under an Invisibility spell, and just happened... to save Hugo's life—when I couldn't—why couldn't I? Why wasn't I enough? What was wrong with me that I couldn't respond fast enough, and he—the renown nutter, Xenophilius, thank God—could?_

"Ms Weasley?"

Hermione flinched, startled. _And his wand aglow when we both touched it—what did he mean when he said, __"It was you!"? I have nothing to do with the Deathly Hallows, at least, not in relation to him… _But a nagging thought flashed across her mind, a memory she had pushed aside and buried a long time ago. _He—he couldn't have meant... He couldn't remember that I—I Obliviated part of his memory that day?_ She swallowed hard at the distasteful reminder that she had had to Obliviate any traces of their discussion of the Deathly Hallows from Xenophilius' memory on that horrid day, so that the Death Eaters wouldn't know—_that Voldemort wouldn't find out!_ _We had needed time, time was of the essence!_ Hermione had had to do what was needed to secure for them protection, secrecy, as long as she could within her means, against Voldemort's followers. _It was all too dangerous! For everyone! _She had had no choice but to use the brutal charm on him.

Confused and conflicted, Hermione backed away from Xenophilius. As she reached the door, she turned back to him and managed to utter, "Thank you for Hugo, for _everything_... I must go now, but perhaps..." She wasn't quite sure what it was she wanted to say further, and so Hermione could only repeat, "I must go..."

"Quisque facere debet, quod ab illo factum oportet, Ms Weasley."

_One must do what one must?_ she translated silently to herself, and suddenly became concerned at the possible implications attached to Lovegood's comment. Hermione held Xenophilius' gaze, her brow furrowing, and she quietly replied, "Yes, Mr Lovegood… One must do what one must…"

And with that, she closed the door behind her, troubled by her thoughts, before catching up with her family, leaving the pensive wizard to his own solitary thoughts.

oOoOoOo

Hermione tossed and turned in her bed, unable to get to sleep. She reflected on the day's events with a heavy but grateful heart. Staring through the darkness and quiet of her room, out the window into the starry night, Hermione remembered how her eyes had smarted witnessing Lovegood's kindness to her son, even though she had seen it was with great difficulty for him. _Let alone his saving Hugo's life!_

With a sharp intake of breath, she recalled how being reminded of the Deathly Hallows by Lovegood was painful for both of them; it caused her emotions to surge in turmoil and conflict even now. She turned away from the window's view, onto her other side, and scrunched her eyes tight, determined to get some sleep. But her mind kept racing, flitting from thought to thought. Memory to memory of the day's events. _Hugo almost drowned!_ _Xenophilius… What was he doing there?_ She flipped again to her other side… and stared again out the window into the vastness of the fathomless sky. Slowly, lying there in the stillness of the night in her bed, Hermione's tears welled up, mixed with bittersweet happiness, her heart opening to allow a spark of joy upon remembering Hugo speaking to the quiet man, and how gently Xenophilius had responded to him.

At the thought that Lovegood had triggered some spring of need to communicate in her son, a small smile crept upon her lips, and with this conflicting but thankful memory, she allowed herself to relax into a deep slumber.

oOoOoOo

Ron's fading image disappeared completely above her. Hermione clawed. She grasped in vain. Higher and higher. The rope she was trying desperately to hang onto evaporated in her hands. She was falling. Surrounded by infinite dark space.

She hit rock bottom, and the darkness surrounding her lightened to a grey haze. As she peered through the heavy mist, she slowly made out what seemed to be a large triangular area of black dirt, a dark wooden border framing it, surrounded by tall tuffs of dead grass on the outer side. Then she distinctly made out the outline of jagged rocks in the centre of the triangle, forming a circle.

_It's… It's for…_ Hermione trembled in her sleep. _… to conjure the spirit into the physical…_

No sooner had she thought it then a conjuring figure appeared. A wizard sent a baleful curse nonverbally. She felt a wave of nausea pass over her as she recognized to whom the long blond hair belonged. She felt a force. The runic symbol of the _em wah_ repeatedly flew in her mind's eye. Then Hermione had the sensation that she was caught inside the top corner of the earthen triangle. She felt pain. As if she were bleeding. And to her added horror, she saw Hugo and Rose lying still; each in a different corner of the equilateral triangle. The image of Malfoy came into the foreground closer. But then, suddenly, Xenophilius was before her. Like lightning, the _em wah_ symbol flew around in her mind again but then morphed into a triangle and circle and was joined with a third—a wand-like line. _The Deathly Hallows!_

She woke up gasping for air. _Runes! That shape… the Hallows… that shape… The equilateral triangle burnt in the ground… the circle of stones…_ Her heart was beating fast as she rose and threw on her robe, and as quietly as possible, she crossed the hall, opening the children's bedroom door, checking if they were well or…

Rose and Hugo were safely snuggled under their covers, fast asleep.

Hermione hurried back to her room and crossed directly to her worktable. She felt afire with energy, and a tingling coursed through her that had lain dormant for too long. _Magic!_ Her inner core of magic was awakened once more. She felt it sporadically coursing through her, causing her fingers to itch, sensing inanimate objects being animate; her perception of her environment was felt more keenly, even the cool night air seemed to flow and whirl with a vibrant energy around her. Feeling flushed with excitement and relief, knowing she was _back_… Her magic was _back_… She would use the last ounce of her being to protect her children—and could! Comforted by the flow of force clinging around and within her, she allowed herself to embrace the tiny but significant measure of healing that she was experiencing… She stood stock-still, deliberately quiet, feeling the wash of healing magic soothing the dreadful wound that had been opened by Ron's death. She felt like she was waking from a terrible lassitude. She had never felt so… vigilant!

As she lit a candle, she concentrated hard and whispered, _Accio!_

The onrush of magic prickled through her as the intended objects landed in front of her on the desk, tomes and tomes on Runology. Hermione searched through _Ancient Runes Made Easy, The Oxford Rune Dictionary, Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, Spellman's Syllabary, Advanced Rune Translation…_ But it was the last old book she'd summoned which she searched and cross-referenced the most. She rifled through _Ye Olde Magick Tome of Runes_, desperately seeking the symbols that kept appearing, repeating themselves…. Taking quill in hand, she noted down what each reoccurring one was possibly indicating, and then she sat down and drew out on a parchment a squared grid, carefully drawing the geometric design from her dream with the precision of the skilled Arithmancer that she was.

Feeling ablaze with determination, Hermione jotted down several formulae, measuring distances from one point to another, calculating the space and time of the finite forms, and ebulliently writing down their meanings. But her exuberance fell as every other couplet of one Arithmantic formula resolved itself with the same meaning: one repeating Arithmantic solution's meaning paralleled to the runic _eh waz_ symbol: _Partnership!_

But the other—the other equated to… _Death!_

Her hand shook as she forced herself to check and check again, getting the same solutions over and over: _Partnership! Death! _

She desperately compared the measurements of the triangle, the magic circle of the dream so vividly detailed in her mind's eye with that of the Deathly Hallows' circle. Those measurements of the Deathly Hallows, then the magic circle's difference in the circumferences, were then cut by the elder wand's formidable line, narrowing and changing the Arithmancy formulae and meaning, and the Runes… The doubt crept in…

She plopped down in her desk chair. Reliving Lucius Malfoy's malevolent curse, she tingled with nausea at the thought of Rose and Hugo being entrapped in her night terrors as well. She huffed and swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat as the thoughts of Malfoy, partnership and death swirled around in her mind… _My children—they were lying on the ground as if … as if they were … Between a partnership and death, I'd embrace death, but Hugo and Rose—what does this truly mean? I've never given over to mumbo-jumbo, and this…_ _This is maddening… If only there was someone to ask… to discreetly share this with… How could anyone else possibly understand?_

She felt she couldn't turn to those closest to her, as they were already skeptical of her theories and too concerned about her to be able to offer impartial advice or support as it was. Her colleagues at the Ministry were equally unlikely to be of help. She did not want to stir up trouble at work or within the family if she could not prove anything, anyway.

Her eyes gazed intensely into the early morning sky; the stars twinkling down were slowly fading, challenging her to see beyond them whilst they lasted in the soft heaven's mantle.

_Xenophilius! Lovegood might be able to help… He's a renowned Runologist… and the Hallows…_ She swallowed hard as she admitted to herself, _He knows more than anyone… about the Deathly Hallows…_

But doubt raised its ugly head, causing Hermione to second-guess herself yet again.

_But my children! I have to protect them… _Hermione's rational constitution took its rightful place; her pragmatic nature reasserted itself, and she reasoned, _It's just—that horrid nightmare, Malfoy… It can't absolutely mean anything—it's a dream, only a dream—this horrible scare we've all had with Hugo… and seeing that symbol today: the Deathly Hallows!_

But as Hermione stared at the solid calculations and the finite solutions, she felt a chill go down her spine attached to the uncanny feeling of Lucius Malfoy's presence so darkly, profoundly present in her night terrors, his having wormed his way to her very core… Frustratingly, her inability to ignore or deny the Arithmantic geometric predictions niggled away at her, even as she tried to deny that which kept repeating itself, _They must be wrong… wrong…_ She gave over to the little voice, which said_, A second opinion is needed!_

To seal her decision came the image of Malfoy's silent mouthing of his curse—but this time, she heard it in her mind's eye like a grotesque children's rhyme_, The blood of three shall needed be!_

With a terrifying fear, freezing her, she realised, _Myself and the children!_

_There's nothing else for it_, decided Hermione, resolutely resigning herself to the obvious. _I must go… to Xenophilius Lovegood! But it's unforeseeable how Lovegood will react to me; he's so… so … unusual… _She sighed_. Possibly, truly bonkers… _She bit her lip_. What if he causes more harm than good? No. No, if he was sound enough in mind and body to save Hugo, he's sound enough to give me his scholarly opinion about my formulae—his Ravenclaw wit will see to that! Without a second opinion, without help, my children's lives could be at risk—if my Arithmantic formulae hold true, if Malfoy's curse has been cast to ensnare Hugo and Rose as well—how can I risk that? I can't! _

oOoOoOo

"Tell me about him."

"Well, dear, you know," suggested Molly, motioning her hand in a rotating way.

"No. No, I don't understand." Hermione gave Arthur a puzzled look and then turned back again to Molly.

Arthur cleared his throat and, buttering his bread, matter-of-factly said, "After the War... after Azkaban, well, Xeno had never been—always been considered a bit _unusual_... and what with the—"

Molly made a hign pitched sound, clearing her throat, indicating that Arthur should watch his words. The elder Weasley frowned, paused and, surprising Molly, continued on, "The Death Eaters had done a good number on him, torturing him until he was already well broken when they dumped him into Azkaban... The Dementor's didn't have much left to play with—"

"Arthur!" reprimanded Molly sharply.

"The point is–when he finally earned his parole, he was... well... let's just say that there wasn't much left by the time he came home... It's a miracle that he was able to help Hugo at all, given the nearly catatonic state he'd been reduced to by those—"

"Now, Arthur," Molly reproofed her husband. "Xeno's always been a little aloof, hesitant to react—it goes way back, ever since poor Hibiscus' accident. Still blames himself, he does—and that, coupled with how he was treated by Bellatrix Lestrange in Azkaban—" Molly clearly had caught herself saying more than she meant to and clucked, "Well, enough of that, Arthur! We all survived... and if some of us are more... damaged than others, then that's the way the snitch flies. You should stay away from Xeno, my dear. He is better on his own, without distractions that bring back painful memories."

"You knew his wife, Luna's mum? What happened, Molly? Luna has never spoken about the details of her mother's death... Did you know her well?" Hermione was beside herself with curiosity for details about the tragic events.

Molly heaved a heavy sigh. "Not surprising that dear Luna hasn't spoken about it more than necessary... It was horrible. A horrible way to die. And the poor child saw it all. Xeno was a minute too late to save poor Hibiscus."

"Why? How? What exactly happened?" asked Hermione, her voice in a tight whisper.

Now it was Arthur's turn to clear his throat, clearly unsettled by the topic and not wishing for further details to be elaborated on. "The _official_ report was that it was an unfortunate accident, Mollykins, remember? No one was too blame, Hermione. Perhaps, Hibiscus herself, only. But then, she was a very free spirit, even by Xenophilius' standards... The marks of trauma from her unfortunate spell experimentation scarred her daughter and husband for life." The Weasley patriarch cleared his throat again and pushed back his chair. "Well, I do believe I must finally mosey on back to the Ministry." Arthur crossed and gave Molly an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Ginny and Harry will bring Hugo and Rose back after lunch with their own lot along. Can't wait to see little James, Albus and Lily. I'll try to sneak off and back home earlier today if I can."

Hermione noticed Arthur's slightly sober look as he added, "That is, if we haven't any raids to carry out."

Hermione frowned as a melancholic wave of emotion washed over her at all of the different signals she was receiving from Molly and Arthur. _Molly knows more about Lovegood than she's told me, much more, as does Arthur… What are they hiding? Why did Molly imply that Xenophilius was at fault? How horrid! _

Hermione stood in the opened back doorway and gazed at the distant puffs of chimney smoke floating softly against the sky. _From Lovegood's home!_ Her forehead furrowed in thought and concern, and she reflected. _How much more was Xenophilius damaged by the war?_ Her brow knitted further as it dawned on her that in all the times she had run into Luna since the end of the war, Luna had never spoken about her father. _Is it possible Xenophilius and Luna are estranged? How... how sad... Why? But Molly and Arthur are wrong about him being utterly damaged... A damaged man could not have acted as he did, plunging into the river and rescuing Hugo. Arthur's right; it is a miracle. Lovegood saved Hugo's life... and the dreams... Why has he appeared in my dreams? With the Deathly Hallows—my Arithmantic formulae have shown me that he could possibly—that the Hallows could possibly counter whatever odious, malevolent sigils that Malfoy may have planned for me and my children... Perhaps... perhaps Lovegood could help... He's a Runologist, like me... and the Hallows... _

Hermione could no longer keep secret her urgent need to visit their unpredictable, eccentric neighbour. She sighed heavily and announced to Molly and Arthur, "I have to see him. I have to speak with Xenophilius Lovegood. Today."

oOoOoOo


End file.
